


His Love of Books

by Magnetism_bind



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Acceptance, Books, Confusion, Denial of Feelings, M/M, Romantic Gestures, Slow Build, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-26 00:07:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12047169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnetism_bind/pseuds/Magnetism_bind
Summary: Silver starts bringing Flint books.





	His Love of Books

 

"What is this?" Flint frowns at the book sitting on his desk. It wasn't there before. He would have remembered.

“It’s a book.”

“I can see that.” Flint says. “What’s it doing on my desk?”

Silver shifts slightly. "Just something I saw when we were ashore." He edges a little more towards the door like he’d rather be anywhere but right here.

Flint's frown deepens. "When we were ashore...you mean you brought this aboard the ship?" Why on earth would Silver do such a thing?

"Yes."

"Why?"

Silver blinks. He looks at the books on the shelves in the cabin where they're currently standing and then back at Flint like he shouldn't have to explain this. "You...and books?"

"What about me and books?"

"Well, you like them."

He does. Like. That word is an understatement as to what Flint feels for literature, but it’s been a good while since he’s had cause or excuse to truly dwell on the subject. And it doesn't exactly explain why Silver brought him one. Does it?

"Anyway." Silver gestures. "Enjoy."

He's gone before Flint can say anything more.

Flint doesn't know what to make of it. He examines the book. It's a well-preserved edition of  _Somnium_  that he's read before but has fond memories of nonetheless. 

He keeps it on the desk, his fingers straying over the cover from time to time as he works. 

When he finally retires for the night he hesitates and then takes the book with him. Dimming the lantern, he stretched out on the window seat with a low burning candle and a small glass of brandy. He reads quickly, unaware that a smile keeps gathering faintly at the corners of his mouth as he reads, lost in the simple pleasure of words carrying him far away.

 *  *  *

The next time it's two small volumes of poetry. He spots them sticking out of Silver's pocket as they're walking back to the dock.

"Find something of interest?"

Silver glances down and his hand goes to his pocket as though reassuring himself they're still there.

"Yes."

Flint waits but Silver doesn't say anything more. 

"Like poetry, do you?" He doesn't know why he's prodding other than he's curious, especially at Silver's reluctance to immediately divulge the contents of his pocket.

"Actually," Silver hesitates, then takes them out, "they're for you."

"Me?" Flint can't keep the surprise from his voice. He’d thought the gift of the book last time was a fluke, a one-time foolish gesture on Silver’s part, done most likely to gain favor with him. He hadn’t expected it to happen a second time.

" _You_ do like poetry, don't you?" Silver pushes, like his answer matters.

"Yes." Flint admits, unsure why it feels like he's given something away here.

Silver nods in satisfaction. He's holding them out and finally Flint takes them from him.

"Thank you."

Silver offers him a smile, the rare small sort, like the one he gave Flint after his plan aboard the warship started bearing fruit and Flint hadn't been able to hide his admiration. He finds that smile truly distracting and it stays with him the rest of the day, even though he doesn’t want to admit it.

That evening is particularly fine and Flint finds himself up on the quarter deck, watching the sun set slowly over the town on the shore. As he rests his hands on the railing, his coat presses against his side and he remembers the books.

Taking one out he studies it, eyes skimming over a line here and there. He stops at one page and frowns.

"Not to your liking?" Silver ventures from behind him.

Flint turns his head to see Silver standing on the top step, observing him.

"It's not that," Flint says brusquely. "Just this poem."

Silver steps up on the deck and comes over to stand beside him. 

"What if it?"

"It's hard to explain." Flint struggles to say what it is about the poem that strikes him without reading it, "it's difficult without reading it."

"So read it then," Silver murmurs.

Flint glances at him sharply, but Silver's gaze rests upon the waves, the golds and grays and scarlets of the sunset alighting upon the deep blue. His face is held softly to one side and the bruises still lingering from his attempts to win over the crew are fading in different shades of shadows. Flint finds himself briefly distracted by the idea of touching Silver, very gently by the neck and examining them for himself.  

He hesitates and then he returns to the page where he was before, clears his throat and reads aloud in the fading twilight.

 _O heart, the equal poise of love's both parts,_  
_Big alike with wounds and darts,_  
_Live in these conquering leaves; live all the same,_  
_And walk through all tongues one triumphant flame;_  
_Live here, great heart, and love and die and kill,_  
_And bleed and wound, and yield and conquer still._  
_Let this immortal life, where'er it comes,_  
_Walk in a crowd of loves and martyrdoms;_  
_Let mystic deaths wait on 't, and wise souls be_  
_The love-slain witnesses of this life of thee._  
_O sweet incendiary! show here thy art,_  
_Upon this carcass of a hard cold heart..._

He stops there abruptly. The poem goes on, but he cannot. The words are too bright, too hard inside his mind, upon his tongue. He wishes he were on the island. There is nowhere to go on this ship that he can get away from the slow burning inside himself.

“Is that the end?” Silver asks after a moment.

“No,” Flint admits. “The rest is…” He glances back at the page, lingering on the last few lines.

Silver draws even closer. “May I?”

And Flint passes the book between them on the railing, watching Silver’s hands as they touch the pages carefully.

 _By all of him we have in thee,_  
_Leave nothing of my self in me:_  
_Let me so read thy life that I_  
_Unto all life of mine may die._

Silver’s voice is clear and quiet in the stillness of the oncoming night. Flint imagines hearing him read more words, the two of them sitting in his cabin together, watching Silver’s mouth form the words, and that line of thought leads to imagining his mouth in other pursuits.

The words die away and Silver is silent.

Flint reaches for the book, ignoring the brief touch of Silver’s fingertips on his. “You can borrow it from my cabin if you want to read more.” He says and turns to go.

When he pauses on the main deck and looks back against his better judgement, Silver’s still standing up there, gazing out to sea. For a moment Flint considers going back and telling him to come down to the cabin with him now, inviting that brief moment of imagining into reality, making it possible between them.

It’s only a momentary imagining. That is not how things are between them. Silver’s only trying to curry favor with him, and Flint’s weakness for literature is such that he will let him do so, even if he will not give Silver the favor that he seeks.

 *  *  *

The time after that it’s Shakespeare and Flint doesn’t acknowledge it at first. He’s back to not knowing what to make of Silver’s gestures.  _Much Ado About Nothing_. Is Silver trying to tell him something or is he simply making light of their troubles?

“I would have thought you’d bring me one of the tragedies.” Flint mutters under his breath.

Silver glances sidewise at him. “I think you deserve a little levity in your life, captain.”

Flint raises an eyebrow. “Is that right?”

“Would you have preferred a tragedy?” Silver asks curiously.

“I’ve had enough of tragedy to fill my own book, thank you.” Flint turns to look out at the sea once more. He can feel Silver’s eyes on him and he knows the words are there upon his tongue. It would be easy to tell him about the past and for the first time Flint finds himself wanting to.

*  *  * 

The time after that, Flint actually spots the book first. They’re in the house of a wealthy lord on the island. Flint can’t help perusing his bookcases and spotting  _Sidereus Nuncius_  there. His fingers itch to take it. How can he know for certain that Silver will select this book out of all of them sitting there on the shelf? It’s tempting fate to leave it there, and yet Flint does. Curious as to whether his own instincts regarding Silver and Silver coming to know him in return will hold true.

They’re back on the ship and it’s late. Flint’s in his cabin when there’s a knock at the door and Silver slides into the room before he can answer.

“What is it?” Flint says.

Silver reaches into his pocket and draws out the exact book Flint had eyed earlier. “You were in that room before me.”

“So what of it?” Flint says.

“I find it hard to believe a man as observant, and as fond of literature as yourself, would have missed this on the shelf then.” Silver’s fingers tap the cover restlessly.

“Your point being?”

“That you did in fact spy its presence there, and yet for whatever personal reason of your own, left it there, to see if I would bring it to you.”

_Damn him._

Flint considers. “And?” he says, drawing this out as best as he can because he doesn’t have a better answer for Silver, should he ask a more specific question. All the same he can’t decide if he’s pleased or concerned that Silver knows him this well.

Silver merely smiles. “I just wanted to know that I was right.”

He moves closer to Flint and holds the book out. Flint takes it, still expecting something more. Instead Silver turns and goes back to the door without another word, leaving Flint alone with his thoughts.

*  *  *

It becomes a habit of Flint’s, waiting to see what Silver will bring him. A small ritual just between them. Sometimes they talk about the books Silver brings him, sometimes they don’t.

But Silver always comes back with something for him and there are expectations now, existing within Flint’s heart, in spite of his attempts to keep any such thing from existing. He can’t halt this from beginning, whatever it is, it’s already begun.

 *  *  *

In the maroon camp, Flint’s leaning back against the bars of the cage, his head sunk low on his shoulders.

Silver’s been gone for what feels like an interminable time. If they’re questioning him…Flint closes his eyes. If they don’t bring Silver back, he doesn’t know what he’ll do.

There are footsteps close by and his head jerks up to see the guard bringing Silver back.

Silver steps inside the cage and watches the guard walk away before he starts to come over to Flint. With a faint groan he sinks down to sit beside him.

“Are you all right?” Flint asks quietly. There’s enough flickering light that he can only see patches of Silver’s face, not well enough to ascertain whether there are bruises or wounds.

“I’m fine.” Silver says. “I think there’s a possibility the daughter will listen to us.” He’s focused on the bars across from them, his hands pressed restlessly on his knees.

“Good.” Flint says without really hearing him. 

“Oh, before I forget.” Silver reaches inside his shirt and draws out a small book.

Flint stares at it. “What is that?”

“She has a library in her room. It’s quite impressive. I told her of your love for books and she said you might enjoy this, if you had not read it already.” He passes it to Flint who takes it with trembling fingers.

“You were in there, scheming for our lives and you thought to bring me a book?” Flint asks incredulously. He stares down at the worn volume in his hands. It’s a favorite of his.  _The Blazing World._  He can imagine how it would appeal to the maroon queen’s daughter, and he wonders then, if she would be open to discussing it one day.

“I thought it might take your mind off our predicament.” Silver murmurs wearily.

Flint places a hand on his thigh and Silver looks down at it.

“You never fail to surprise me.” Flint says.

“Is that a compliment or an insult?” Silver inquires lightly.

Flint’s hand travels up his thigh as Silver leans into his touch. He leaves the book in his lap as his other hand comes up to stroke one of Silver’s curls back from his forehead. “A compliment.” 

Silver’s lips part faintly as Flint presses a hand against him and then Silver leans in, seeking the kiss that awaits him.

Flint clasps his face, tracing his lips gently over Silver’s mouth. It has been a long time coming, this kiss and he savors the fact that it exists now, in the darkness of this cage and the warmth of Silver’s mouth.

They’ll make it out of there. They’ll survive this. Flint’s confident of it now. There’s no room for doubt now in his mind.

 *  *  *

_A few months later._

“What’s this?” Silver taps the book lying on the desk in the captain’s cabin. Their cabin, really.

“I saw it earlier.” Flint doesn’t open his eyes. He’s stretched out upon their bed, taking a brief respite from the heat of the day. “Thought you might find it useful.”

Silver picks it up and looks at it. “A cookbook?” His lips twitch faintly, but Flint’s still not looking at him.

“Mmm.” Flint murmurs.

Silver gives in and smiles over at him. He draws closer to where Flint’s lying and leans down to brush a teasing kiss over his lips, feeling Flint against his mouth.

“Are you telling me you don’t enjoy the taste of charred toast?”

“I admit I’m growing accustomed to it.” Flint responds. His hand comes up to cup the back of Silver’s neck, keeping Silver’s lips close to his. “But there are other tastes I enjoy more.”

Silver grins, sliding his tongue inside Flint’s mouth as he sits upon the bed, straddling Flint, stretching out comfortably atop his body.

“You don’t say.”

Flint’s hands move to cup his backside, holding Silver there against his torso. “I do.”

They take their time kissing in the lazy afternoon, Flint holding Silver in place, right where he belongs, their bodies pressed together as though they were one flesh as well as one mind.

**Author's Note:**

> The poem they read together is The Flaming Heart by Richard Crashaw.


End file.
